


Sunday Dinner at May's

by beetle



Category: Deadpool (2016), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Feels, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Humor, Love Confessions, M/M, Mentions of Kurt Connors|The Lizard, Mentions of Tony Stark, Minor Injuries, Oral Sex, Past Harry Osborn/Peter Parker - Freeform, Past Mary Jane Watson/Peter Parker, Peter's a terrible liar, Pre-Slash, Secret Identity, Shower Sex, Slash, Spideypool - Freeform, Sunday Dinner, Wade is much worse, What does May know?, When does she know it?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 21:53:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7908931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/pseuds/beetle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>What</i> does Aunt May know and <i>when</i> does she know it? Also, Peter and Wade are <i>bad</i> at lying . . . like, <i>really</i> bad. Written for this prompt (http://writing-challenges-and-prompts.tumblr.com/post/149633308768/dialogue-30). See end notes for full prompt.</p><p>Notes/Warnings: AU. No warnings I can think of. Oh, and Inbarati: Consider this a down-payment on that chaptered fic I'm gonna try my hand at :-)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday Dinner at May's

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inbarati](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inbarati/gifts).



The doorbell rang once, gently reverberating throughout the house.

 

“Just a moment!” May Parker called, hurrying from the kitchen—where she’d put Sunday supper on a simmer, since her nephew and his best friend were apparently running late—to the front door.

 

Ignoring the faint twinge of arthritis in her knees—getting old, though inevitable, was _not_ fun—she made her way down the hall, wiping her damp hands on her apron. Upon unlocking and swinging open her front door—after peering through the peephole, of course, Ben had trained her quite well—she had a wide smile on her face. One that died as the motion of the door swept in a stink so bad that she—a _nurse_ —quailed in utter horror.

 

“Oh!” She immediately pinched her nose shut, blinking—the stink was so bad, it irritated her _eyes_ —and glanced from Peter to Wade then back again, finally settling on Peter in his absolutely _filthy_ outfit of khakis, button-down shirt, bow-tie, and windbreaker. “Peter Parker! What in the name of all that’s _holy_ —?”

 

“Hi, Aunt May,” Peter mumbled, smiling a sheepish grimace of a smile, holding a bouquet of wilted and partially broken gardenias out to her. She automatically took them, noting that they, too, seemed to _reek_. “Um . . . sorry Wade and I are so, um . . . late.”

 

“Yeah, sorry, ma’am. I mean _May_ ,” Wade added, correcting himself just as sheepishly. And though May had repeatedly told Wade to call her by her first name, she found it endearing that _his_ first instinct was, apparently, to call her _ma’am_.

 

At least, she _usually_ found it endearing. At this particular moment, however, it was all she could do not to order both boys off her porch. She glanced at Peter again, then back to Wade, who—as usual—was wearing his expensive sunglasses and one of what seemed to be dozens of hooded sweatshirts (with the hood very much _up_ and zipped), all over a pair of form-fitting jeans that showed off his strong legs and boots that were probably steel-toed.

 

He, too, was completely filthy, with even _more_ smudges on his scarred, square-jawed, angular face than Peter had. May could practically _see_ the stink-lines wafting off of them both, like an old Pepe Le Pew cartoon. Shaking her head and still holding her nose, she blinked till her irritated eyes began to tear.

 

“Oh, _boys_!” she said in an exasperated tone. “Is there any particular reason _why_ you smell like you crawled through the sewers?!”

 

“Well, you see . . . that’s a, uh . . . funny story,” Peter began in a voice as sheepish as his smile, glancing at Wade, who shrugged, but said nothing, instead muttering something to himself that May couldn’t make out. He did that a lot, she’d noticed.

 

Sighing, she debated even letting them into the house . . . for a moment, anyway, then she was stepping back and waving them in before the neighbors got an eyeful. “One I want to _know_? Ugh, shoes off before you come into this house! Leave them on the porch!” she commanded, eyeing their muddy—God, she _hoped_ it was _mud_ —shoes. She was fairly certain that whatever the story was, it wasn’t one she’d enjoy hearing. Her poor, accident- and adventure-prone nephew’d had a lot of strange things happen to him over the course of his life—though, admittedly, they’d started getting _really_ strange when he was around fifteen, and just before Ben passed on . . . and even stranger, still, since he’d begun palling around with Wade Wilson—and she had no doubt that whatever _tonight’s_ story would be, it wouldn’t be _boring_.

 

Peter and Wade glanced at each other again—they seemed to communicate frequently through glances. At least when they were around _her_. May found it rather odd . . . but cute—then they toed off their boots and sneakers, respectively, and trooped carefully past her into the house. She followed them down the hall, and they all paused at the entryway into the living room, but neither boy seemed interested in going further, for which she was grateful.

 

“Well, see, Aunt May, there was this . . . kitten,” Peter started to explain, but as he said the last word, Wade simultaneously said: “Lizard.”

 

Then they glanced at each other again, Peter glaring, Wade shrugging, and they both spoke at the same time once more, this time Peter saying: “Lizard,” while Wade said: “Kitten.”

 

Unimpressed with the story, thus far, May’s gaze ticked between both boys, noting that they avoided said gaze almost anxiously. “A lizard-kitten?”

 

Wade cleared his throat and Peter turned scarlet, elbowing his best friend in the side hard enough to make Wade grunt and stagger a little. “I think I can tell Aunt May what happened without help, Wade. Uh, actually, it _was_ a k-kitten, Aunt May. A . . . big . . . _angry_ . . . kitten. And, uh . . . see . . . it ran away from us. And. Um. Into an, uh . . . open sewer grate.”

 

May’s eyebrows shot up and she looked to Wade, who’d snorted and muttered something else under his breath. It’d almost sounded like: “ _Stow it, Yellow! Petey_ doesn’t _need our help_!”

 

Sighing again, May turned back to Peter, who was staring up at the ceiling fan—which needed dusting, but she’d been so busy at work lately, helping and filling in for _two_ coworkers who were on maternity leave at the same time, that she’d fallen behind in her cleaning—with narrowed, contemplative eyes. “Since when do you have a kitten, Peter? Or is it Wade’s?”

 

“Uh . . . it wasn’t either of ours, it was a s-stray. And we were, uh, gonna drop it off at a shelter before we came to dinner. But it ran from us and . . . I guess we, uh, chased it? Yeah. Till it scurried into that sewer grate—”

 

“Like a little Houdini!” Wade chimed in, only to get glared at again, then falling silent, his scarred, bitten lower lip caught between even white teeth.

 

“Yeah. Houdini,” Peter said, that grimace-smile making a pained come-back as he continued to avoid May’s gaze. “Anyway . . . so, yeah. We couldn’t just let that little kitten get lost in the sewer! Uh . . . yeah. So, we—Wade and I—found a . . . nearby construction site with a, uh, open manhole, and we . . . went after it. . . .”

 

May was dubious, to put it mildly. “After the kitten.”

 

“Yes.” Peter nodded serenely, eyes narrowed once more, staring intently at the mantle above the fireplace. “After the kitten.”

 

“Into the sewer.”

 

“Yes.” Peter frowned, his nose wrinkling as if he’d just gotten a whiff of himself and Wade. “Into the sewer. Hence the, uh . . . smell.”

 

“Sorry we stink, ma’am,” Wade added, grinning so big, it must’ve hurt his poor face. But at least this time, Peter didn’t elbow him. Obviously taking that as a good sign, Wade went on in a ponderous, humble voice. “Some might call us heroes, but to those people, I simply say . . . Petey and I just did what was _right_.”

 

Peter rolled his eyes and May’s brow furrowed as she stared hard at Wade’s grinning face. “Hmm. Well. Tell me you at least rescued that poor kitten?”

 

“Sure did! We rescued the _shit_ out of it!” Wade exclaimed, pounding his right fist into his left palm savagely, with a dismaying sort of glee. “It’s cooling its scumbag-heels in a titanium-glass pris—I mean . . . at the _ASPCA_ , right now!”

 

“What Wade means is . . . that’s the whole reason why we’re late! Kitten-rescue! Yeah!” Peter elbowed Wade again, then took the staggering man’s arm, dragging him further down the hall, toward the stairs. “Anyway, uh, so, we’re obviously pretty late and really grungy . . . I was kinda hoping we could shower before dinner?”

 

“I _insist_ ,” May said, turning to watch them move down the hall and up the stairs. She put her hands on her hips. “Though, next time you chase a kitten into a sewer, feel free to give me a raincheck on dinner.”

 

“Oh, Aunt May,” Peter said blithely, shoving Wade up the stairs while the other man protested with an offended: _Petey!_ “You know it’d take more than splashing around in the sewer to make us miss Sunday dinner with _you_!”

 

“Ditto!” Wade stopped protesting to agree, looking over his big right shoulder with another huge grin. “Speaking of dinner—is that _risotto_ I smell? _Hey_ — _Petey_! _Ix-nay on the idey-strength-spay_!”

 

“Smells _great_ , Aunt May! Uh . . . Wade and I’ll be upstairs. Showering.” Peter increased his shoving as Wade dug in his heels for a moment.

 

“Wait— _together_?” he asked, sounding surprised, interested, and _painfully_ hopeful. “Oh, _Baby Boy_ —”

 

“No, _not_ together, perv,” Peter mumbled almost too low for May to hear, though she could definitely see the back of his neck and his ears turn bright red. “C’mon, before the smell makes Aunt May pass out. Or _throw us out_.”

 

“Aww, but _Petey-pie_ —”

 

Then they were gone, the door to Peter’s old room shutting firmly behind them. May stood there for a moment, staring at the door . . . then she was shaking her head, and making for the hall closet and the cleaning supplies therein. She only hoped she had enough Lysol and Febreeze to make a dent in that _stink_!

 

#

 

Peter Parker stood under the hot water for a few minutes, letting it simply pound his filthy face and tense shoulders. It was only when they began to relax that he even reached for the shampoo and lathered up his hair.

 

 _How is it_ , he wondered tiredly, blinking his stinging eyes when the shampoo ran into them, _that Dr. Connors keeps getting out of that specially-made prison they keep him in? I mean, Tony Stark had a hand in its design, so it’s_ gotta _be pretty damned impregnable, right? Though, I suppose, if_ anyone _could get out of a prison designed by a genius, it’d be another genius. I suppose—_

 

“Heyya, uh, Petey?”

 

Peter opened his eyes as shampoo-free water ran down his face. He glanced through the frosted glass door of the shower and could see a large, hesitant, uncertain, flesh-toned blur lingering in the doorway. He sighed. “Yeah, Wade?”

 

“I just, uh . . . I just realized I don’t have anything to _wear_. I mean, after my shower,” Wade said apologetically, as if he was somehow at fault. Peter smiled a little, fondness tugging at his heart in the strangest, yet _increasingly_ familiar way.

 

“You can borrow some of my sweats—if they’ll _fit_. Or my bathrobe, if they don’t . . . it’s pretty big— _swims_ on _me_ , really. Then we’ll put our clothes in the wash . . . a _few_ times. Hopefully that’ll get the worst of the smell out and once they’re dry, we can wear ‘em home,” Peter told him, watching the big blur as it stepped toward the shower . . . then backed into the doorway again.

 

“Right. Uh . . . right. Thanks.” Wade’s voice sounded strange. Breathless and thick. “I, uh . . . okay. I’ll leave you to it.”

 

And the blur diminished as Wade started to close the bathroom door.

 

“Wait!” Peter was opening the shower door a crack . . . then wider, still, peering out into the steamy bathroom. Wade leaned back in halfway, his broad—and apparently _bare_ —frame filling the entryway, blocking the view of the hall and the door to Peter’s old room. In the bright, fluorescent light, Wade’s scarred, uneven skin looked as irritated and dry as it was dirty. Peter had a weird, but powerful moment of wanting to run his hands across it, soothe it, cover it in lotion and kisses . . . but then he shook that thought free of his over-tired brain—it _must’ve_ been over-tired for a _while_ , because he’d been fighting such thoughts with a frequency that was more than mildly alarming, and had become second-nature over the past few months—and tried on a smile that felt iffy at best.

 

“Hey, buddy . . . in case I haven’t said it enough on the way here: Thanks for saving my life, tonight,” he said quietly. Wade blinked—his eyes were a stormy, slate-y grey, unlike Peter’s ordinary dark brown—and quirked a crooked half-smile, the door opening a little wider. Wide enough that Peter could see, with something that felt like disappointment, but just _couldn’t_ be, that Wade was still wearing his dirty jeans, slung low on his hips.

 

“Not a problem, Petey-pie. _Never_ a problem.” Then Wade frowned for a moment, head cocked at a listening angle. “No, I _don’t_ care if that was our favorite Spider-Man t-shirt, White. We’ll just have to get _another_ _one_ , won’t we?”

 

Peter rolled his eyes. “I take it White’s not too thrilled you took a claw to the chest for me?”

 

Wade snorted. “That bastard’s never thrilled about _anything_ , Petey. But it’s more about the shirt, than me getting injured. Hell, the scratches are already closing, see?”

 

And with that, Wade pushed the door open all the way, revealing his scarred, but well-muscled chest and the eight-pack that Peter had once envied. Now, however, the feeling that shot through him, liquid, hot, and fast, like mercury, wasn’t anything like _envy_.

 

There, in the center of Wade’s strong sternum, were deep claw-marks—three of them—still partially open and quite gruesome-looking. They weren’t bleeding, anymore, but they were weeping clear fluid ever so slightly, and Peter could still see torn _muscle_ between the edges of torn _skin_.

 

He hissed, leaning further out of the shower, pushing the door wider. “ _Jesus_ , Wade—c’mere!” He reached out to Wade as the other man hesitated again, before padding barefoot into the bathroom. He stopped when he was just within reach of Peter’s wet fingers, taking a deep breath and shivering when those fingers traced the area around the wound, feather-light.

 

“Petey?” Wade questioned, shaking and taking another deep breath, his eyes seemingly glued to where Peter’s fingers skated across his chest. But then so, for that matter, were Peter’s.

 

“You _saved_ me, Wade,” he whispered, brow furrowing as he brushed the lightest caress yet directly over the middle scratch. This time, Wade was the one to hiss, his breath hitching then accelerating. Peter started to jerk his hand away, an apology already on his lips, but Wade reached up, snake-quick, and caught Peter’s wrist, pulling his hand back against his chest. Against the scratches.

 

Peter blinked and looked up into Wade’s eyes, his own widening at the nearly stricken look on the other man’s face. That look almost instantly turned to one of anxious yearning. Then Peter could _literally_ see the moment Wade screwed his courage to the sticking place, his nervous gaze turning determined and intent and _intense_. His hand slid up till it was cradling Peter’s in a loose, gentle hold.

 

“Peter,” Wade began, his voice low and rough, his thumb stroking slowly back and forth across Peter’s wet palm. Peter was the one to shiver, now, and blush. Because Wade had _never_ looked at him quite like _this_ , before. In fact . . . _no one_ , not even MJ, had looked at Peter like _this_. Like Peter was a light so bright, that Wade could only _barely_ _look_ at him . . . and yet clearly didn’t want to be looking at _anything_ else. “Ya gotta _know_ , Petey . . . I’d _die_ for you. Even if I knew I wouldn’t come back, afterwards. I’d step between you and danger without a second—or even a _first_ —thought.”

 

Peter’s round eyes grew even rounder and he knew he was gaping like a total idiot. “ _Wade_ —”

 

“And I know,” Wade interrupted, holding up his other hand to forestall whatever Peter had been about to say. “I know that in the _real world_ , a guy like _me_ doesn’t have a _chance_ with a guy like you. Could never _get_ a guy like you, even if I wasn’t uglier’n sin. Even before Weapon X gave me this handsome mug, I was no prize—dysfunctional, unstable, morally grey at _best._ ” He snorted ruefully, big shoulders sagging as he sighed and looked down at Peter’s hand. “I was— _am_ —an asshole. And I talk a _lotta_ shit—hit on you, make all sorts of crude jokes, and wax poetical about your ass _way_ too much—and say things that you _definitely_ don’t wanna hear, least of all from _me_. And I guess . . . I guess I’m about to say another. Because the thing is . . . the thing _is_ , Peter Benjamin Parker . . . I’m so in love with you, I can’t even remember how it feels to _not_ belong to you, heart and soul. You’re beautiful and smart, sweet and funny, and _everything_ about you takes my fucking _breath_ away! You’ve let me into your life—trusted me with who you are and the people you love, and . . . no one’s ever done that for me before. _Ever_. You are . . . _fucking amazing_. You’re _everything_ to me. My own _miracle_. So _please_ believe me when I say that I love you, because I _do_. From the smallest atom of me, I _love_ you. And I always will.”

 

At first all Peter could do was blink. Stare at Wade’s nakedly open face and averted eyes. Then Wade was looking up again, to meet Peter’s startled gaze.

 

“I don’t deserve you, Pete—and I for damn sure ain’t ever gonna _get_ you . . . I got no illusions on _that_ front—but I just . . . I wanted you to know how I feel because . . . it’s _too big_ , now. Too big for me to stuff down and keep inside, anymore. I’d climb Everest just to shout it from the mountaintop that _I love you_ , Baby Boy,” Wade murmured, smiling a little. It was a miserable sort of smile, wry and self-mocking. “I’ve probably just made things so awkward between us, you’ll kick me to the curb for good. Not that I’d _blame_ you. Not a lotta people _wouldn’t_ flip their shit if someone like _me_ was declaring their eternal love for them. So I understand if you’d rather I, uh . . . get outta yours and May’s hair and take my shower at my own—”

 

“Well, you’re certainly not showering _here_ ,” Peter said agreed plainly. Wade nodded, as if he’d expected as much, his eyes lowering to the floor. Peter grinned suddenly, letting his hand drift down to the waistband of Wade’s jeans. He hooked his fingers in them and tugged forward, with just enough spidey-strength that Wade shuffled closer, surprise making his hairless brows draw together.

 

“Petey, what—?”

 

“At least . . . you’re not showering here till you take these _jeans_ off. In the _Parker_ house, we shower _without_ our clothes on, please and thank you.” Peter’s grin turned into a smirk at the look on Wade’s face, and he began singlehandedly undoing Wade’s fly. He’d had a lot of practice with MJ and—briefly—with Harry. The principles were pretty much the same . . . though a bit more difficult, this time, since those other times, his partner had been helping him along.

 

Wade, however, was just staring at Peter agog, mouth and eyes wide.

 

“What? What?” Wade kept saying as, fly finally undone, Peter tugged him closer again, then shoved down the dirty jeans as far as he could. They stopped down at Wade’s knees, which was more than far down enough for Peter to discover that Wade not only wasn’t wearing any underwear, but he was also _hung_.

 

Like an army mule.

 

It was enough to give a guy a complex, but for the fact that Peter suddenly wanted, more than anything, to see Wade hard and standing at attention . . . wanted to feel Wade’s solid, powerful body pressing his own into the shower wall and that scarred, but still _gorgeous_ cock slipping, sliding, and coming against his own.

 

For starters, anyway.

 

“Baby Boy— _Peter_ —what’re you _doin’_?” Wade sounded scandalized—as scandalized as Aunt May’d likely be if she had _any_ idea what Peter and Wade were about to be doing in her shower.

 

“Wade.” Peter’s smug smirk turned into a hopeful smile. “Just— _get in the shower_ , huh? And try to keep it down, will ya? Let’s _not_ put on a show for Aunt May.”

 

Wade’s mouth worked soundlessly for a few moments . . . then he was kicking off his jeans with neither grace nor finesse, and crowding into the shower with Peter, who chuckled as Wade pulled him close, his big body blocking the spray completely. He gazed down into Peter’s eyes, his own wary and wondering—and _awed_ , as if Peter really _was_ a miracle he’d just witnessed and he _still_ couldn’t believe his eyes.

 

And there they stood—one of them, at least—under the hot spray, steam curling around them sinuously, as they searched each other’s eyes unhurriedly. Finally, Peter’s eyebrows quirked halfway up his forehead. Wade was getting hard against his abdomen breaking what _had_ to be some sort of land-speed record. Peter, himself, wasn’t actually that far behind.

 

“You know, as much as I’m lookin’ forward to May’s risotto,” Wade breathed shakily, leaning in to kiss Peter’s forehead. “I can’t _wait_ to get you back to my place, Petey. Gonna make you feel _good_ . . . gonna take _such_ good care of you. . . .”

 

Peter sighed contentedly. _Happily_. Happier, as a matter of fact, than he’d been in quite some time. “Well . . . how ‘bout you gimme a little taste to tide me over till then?”

 

Wade smiled against Peter’s forehead, then leaned back to look into his eyes. Wade’s grey ones were so dark, they seemed almost _black_. And they were wide with _want_ so great it made Peter gasp. Then Wade was leaning in toward him again, their lips meeting in a tentative kiss that was like the Fourth of July, Christmas, Peter’s birthday, and Arbor Day thrown in for good measure.

 

“Are you _real_ , Petey?” Wade murmured desperately on his lips when Peter stood on tiptoe to bring their mouths together again. “Is _this_ real?

 

“I sure hope so, Wade. _Kiss_ _me_.”

 

And Wade did. _This time_ , there was nothing tentative about it, or about the large hands that settled on Peter’s narrow hips, before sliding around to his ass to clutch and knead. Peter gasped again into the kiss, then moaned as Wade’s tongue teased his own.

 

In what seemed like the blink of an eye, Wade had Peter pressed against the wall of the shower, nipping his way down Peter’s throat and neck, to his collar bone. Tugging with gentle teeth at Peter’s left nipple, then his right. Leaving a trail of gently biting kisses down Peter’s stomach and abdomen, to nuzzle and snuffle at Peter’s wet pubes, before licking the tip of his cock in one long, slow rasp.

 

“Oh, my _GOD_!” Peter gulped, unable to look away from the stormy eyes locked on his own. Wade smiled up at him, his face wet and shining.

 

“Keep it down, will ya? Or do you _wanna_ get caught?” There was a playful twinkle in Wade’s eyes that made Peter blush and stammer.

 

“I—I w-wanna get _off_ ,” he said, pushing his hips forward a bit. Wade rolled his eyes but took the hint and applied his smart mouth to where it’d do the most good. Peter groaned again, probably _way_ too loud, and his head thunked back against the shower wall, his eyes slipping shut because . . . _damn_.

 

Damn.

 

It wasn’t a marathon blow-job—Peter was _entirely_ too wound up and horny, and _Wade_ was entirely too experienced and enthusiastic—partially because Wade let Peter slide down his throat early and _often._ So not terribly long after Wade’s knees had hit the shower floor, Peter was coming, shooting down Wade’s wet, silken throat as it contracted around him. He bit hard into his own wrist in an attempt to muffle his ecstatic shouts as Wade continued to milk his sensitive cock, catching a last few spurts on his talented tongue before letting Peter slip out of his mouth.

 

Panting, Peter started to slide down the shower wall, but Wade stood up and caught him easily, nuzzling his cheek before kissing him. He tasted like Peter’s come and clean water—a strangely compelling combination that made Peter try to swallow Wade’s face—and thrusted hard and sharp against Peter’s thigh.

 

It didn’t take much spidey-strength to reverse their positions—Wade wasn’t even putting up token resistance—pin Wade to the wall, and kiss/lick/bite his way down the other man’s body, saving the gentlest of kisses for the scratches, on his way to returning the favor.

 

“Oh, _fuck_ . . . oh, _Petey_ ,” Wade whisper-babbled, panting, his hands clenching tight in Peter’s hair. For such a loud-mouth, he was eerily quiet while Peter blew him, sucked on his balls, then licked his way back up to Wade’s ridiculous, gorgeous cock, and used his lips and tongue to methodically take Wade apart.

 

Wade was _still_ pretty quiet when his cock began to twitch in sexual semaphore, though he’d gotten a _bit_ louder. Then _markedly_ louder when Peter teased his asshole with one finger, before pushing that finger _in_ with one quick, smooth thrust.

 

Suddenly, Peter had _more_ than a mouthful of come: bitter and salty and more than he could swallow—for now—though he did manage to swallow _most_ of it.

 

By the time Wade’s tight clench in Peter’s hair and around Peter’s finger relaxed, the water had finally begun to run cold. It’d already gone lukewarm some minutes ago.

 

“ _Fuck_ , baby, get _up here_ ,” Wade ordered breathlessly, tugging weakly on Peter’s hair. Peter gave Wade’s spent cock a few more nuzzles and kitten-licks—causing an almost pained moan—then stood, smirking again, and bounced up to meet a kiss that lasted till the water was frigid and neither of them could feel their toes.

 

#

 

“Well, it’s about time, you two!”

 

May stood as Peter and Wade walked into the kitchen—both wearing old sets of Peter’s sweats . . . which still fit Peter alright, but Wade looked like the Hulk: about to burst out of them—the former looking flushed and smug, the latter looking dazed and gobsmacked.

 

“Are you boys alright? I thought maybe you drowned,” May teased, eyebrows lifting gently in question, noting that the pair were holding hands, fingers loosely, but definitely linked together. May was _instantly_ certain that Peter and Wade _hadn’t_ noticed—not _really_ —the hand-holding. Or that their bodies were inclined toward each other in a way that they’d never been before—at least in _May’s_ presence. And they kept stealing almost shy little glances at each other, as if they couldn’t help themselves even with May’s keen eyes on them.

 

“Would it be gauche and uncool to congratulate you?” she asked, nodding at their joined hands when they shot curious looks at her. Then they both looked down at their hands, then up at the other, _then_ _back_ _at_ _May_ , and finally let go as if burned . . . though their hands didn’t stray far from each other.

 

“Uh,” Wade said, turning even redder, eyes darting _everywhere_ but at May and Peter.

 

“See, the thing is, Aunt May,” Peter forged ahead bravely, despite his own blush, as he took Wade’s hand again, rather defiantly. It was _so_ adorable. “The thing _is_ . . . Wade and I—”

 

“I _love_ your nephew, ma’am!” Wade blurted out as if May had accused him of feeling otherwise. His gaze on May’s was practically _frantic_ , but determined, as well. So he didn’t notice the way Peter looked up at him . . . that his dark, shrewd eyes softened in a way that would’ve been obvious to a blind man. “I love him _very much_!”

 

“As you young people say, _well, duh_!” May sniffed, rolling her eyes. “Tell me something _else_ I don’t know!”

 

“The thing is, Wade and I have _feelings_ for each other, Aunt May. Feelings that go beyond mere _friendship,_ and—wait, _what_?” Peter paused his impromptu admission of _feelings_ , and shook his head as if he thought he’d heard wrong. Next to him, Wade was gaping.

 

“Oh, really, as if you two weren’t patently _obvious_ about how you feel,” May huffed, raising her eyebrows again and crossing her arms. “Wade, I’d say you look at Peter the way a starving dog looks at a Thanksgiving roast, but for the fact that a starving dog would _never_ look so lovingly at anyone or anything, as you look at my nephew. And Peter . . . good _grief_ , child, the way you look at Wade sometimes, I’m surprised the poor boy hasn’t burst into _flames_! Honestly! And don’t _think_ I haven’t noticed the way you stare at his backside whenever he walks by you, your mouth hanging open like your jaw doesn’t have a hinge—”

 

“AUNT MAY!” Peter sounded mortified, his face so red, he looked like a beet with eyes. He covered his face with his hands for a few moments, groaning, before looking up again. “What even is my _life_?”

 

“Oh, you know it’s true! Don’t be so melodramatic!” May gave them both a stern look that made them wince and look down. “Not to mention the fact that you’ve been bringing Wade to Sunday dinner for almost _two years_ , now, Peter Parker . . . it’s _about time_ you realized how you feel. That you _both_ realized how you feel for each other and had the guts to admit it.”

 

“So . . . you knew?” Peter was shaking his head incredulously. “All this time, and _you knew_ how I felt before _I_ did?”

 

“Peter, you’re not terribly observant when it comes to how you feel. You _know_ that. You’re just like your Uncle Ben, may he rest in peace. Why, I had to not only tell him that we were _in_ _love_ , but also tell him we were going to get _married_! Poor thing had no clue!” May chuckled, then sighed wistfully. “Still, it was a lovely first date.”

 

Peter shook his head again, then glanced at Wade, who shrugged, clearly still shocked.

 

“So.” Peter’s brows drew together, his face set in a concerned frown. “Does this mean you . . . _don’t_ disapprove?”

 

May smiled and opened her arms. Peter squinted warily, then shuffled into the waiting embrace, hugging her back just as tight. “Peter, sweetheart, I’d only disapprove if I thought you were unhappy. But even from first glance, it’s _plain as day_ that you two not only make each other happy, but you _belong_ _together_. I’ve thought that from the very _first_ Sunday. I’ve just been waiting for _you two dumbbells_ to figure it out for yourselves.”

 

“Well, you coulda told _us_ , Aunt May!” Peter said, leaning back to give her an exasperated look. May snorted.

 

“And be accused of meddling? No way, Jose!” May laughed, delighted, and Peter’s exasperation melted into chagrin. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s that you’re old enough to live and figure out your own life for yourself. So’s Wade, even though neither of you _act_ like it, half the time.”

 

Behind them, Wade laughed as if he’d been kicked in the slats and had the laughter _forced_ out of him. Without letting go of Peter, May nodded her head in his direction: a clear _get over here!_ if ever there was one.

 

Wade looked shocked again . . . then he was approaching very nearly on eggshells.  A few seconds later, his big arms were winding around May and Peter, and he pulled them close against him, towering over them both.

 

May could only faintly smell the sewer on them, now. And only if she inhaled _really_ deep.

 

“Well!” she said a few minutes later, when the hug started to break up. Wade was blinking fast, his eyes a little too shiny, and Peter looked cautiously pleased, his hand already linked with Wade’s again. “Now that _that’s_ settled, shall we eat?”

 

“Yes,” Peter said, sounding relieved and smiling from ear-to-ear. “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse!”

 

“Me, too,” Wade said, his own smile small, but widening when he glanced at Peter, his eyes tender and love-struck. “Hungry and _beat_!”

 

“I shouldn’t wonder! Chasing lizard-kittens in the sewer, making the trip all the way out here . . . not to mention whatever hijinks you two got up to in _my shower_ —” May cast amused, knowing eyes on the two boys, trying not to laugh as Peter went sheet-white and Wade went tomato-red, and both their eyes became saucers. “At any rate, I imagine you’re both _exhausted_. So let’s get dinner under way, and you can spend the night here, if you like.”

 

Peter opened his mouth to speak, then shut it with an audible _click_. Then opened it again, before turning his once more mortified gaze to Wade, who was staring at May as if he expected to her to come after him with a frying pan.

 

“Uh,” he said, then fell silent. But Peter had found his voice again, anxious and worried as all get-out. “Look, Aunt May—”

 

“Oh, _calm down_ , Peter! I’m not upset or angry. You’re a grown man and sometimes, grown men have sex with _other_ grown men—though usually _not_ in my shower—that they’ve fallen in love with. Welcome to the twenty-first century,” May said dryly, turning to the counter to get the plates out of the cupboard above the sink. Then she turned back to the still-embarrassed boys, once more. “Though, if you two spend the night here, _Wade_ is sleeping on the couch. _I_ have an early shift tomorrow and need my _beauty rest,_ and you two _obviously_ can’t be quiet to save your _lives_!” Chuckling, May set the necessary dishes on the counter. “Now, Wade, dear, you set the dishes out. Peter— _you_ _know_ where the utensils are, so don’t stand there like one o’clock half-struck!”

 

After a few more moments of palpable shock and uncertainty, both boys did as they’d been told.

 

They ate dinner in comfortable—for May, anyway—silence, the boys shooting wary looks at May and tender looks at each other. May had one helping of risotto, Peter had two. Wade had _four_ , finishing off the pot.

 

The boys did the dishes together, Wade washing, Peter drying, both of them stealing kisses when they thought May wasn’t looking (but the living room was right across from the kitchen, so they thought wrong). Then they all played a few hands of Crazy Eights till May started to yawn.

 

After making sure Wade was comfortable on the couch—plenty of pillows and blankets . . . the house was a bit drafty in the fall—May said her good-nights and left Peter and Wade to say theirs.

 

She’d been in bed for several minutes before she heard Peter’s footsteps, slow and reluctant, on the creaky stairs. Then she smiled to herself and waited for sleep to claim her—it was a _lot_ slower than it used to be when she was young . . . but such was the peril of getting older—while listening to the wind blow and the house settle.

 

And if, just as she was slipping into slumber, she heard the creak of the stairs, gently and gingerly, and a barely-audible foot-fall outside her own door, seconds later—heard _Peter’s_ door open, a tell-tale _shhh!_ and the quiet _ka-snick_! as Peter’s door _shut_ once more—well, then . . . after that, at least, they were quiet enough that she slept the night through completely undisturbed, and woke up smiling.

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: _“Is there any particular reason why you smell like you crawled through the sewers?”_  
>  “Well, you see that’s a funny story.”  
> “One I want to know?”
> 
> I make my own fun :-)
> 
> [Follow me on Tumblr](https://beetle-ships-it-all.tumblr.com/)!


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